


Suledin, Lethallin

by hairycatlips



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Background, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, light alcohol use, not too graphic, this is cute up until....the part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairycatlips/pseuds/hairycatlips
Summary: Arianis Lavellan is young and confident, eager to please the recent visitors of Clan Ralaferin. He winds up in trouble when a member of the other group betrays his trust.





	Suledin, Lethallin

**Author's Note:**

> This was extremely difficult to write. I wanted to do it, though, as part of my own healing process and to illuminate the history of my precious freckled son who has never done anything wrong in his entire unfortunate life. And I needed somewhere to store it because my writing program has a nasty habit of deleting half of a document with no backups to be found >____>
> 
> For reference, Arianis' age in this story is around 20, five years before the events of Inquisition.

The aravels arrived in the afternoon, drawn by grey halla not found in clan Lavellan’s territory. Everyone gathered to watch the traders come in, excited to hawk their wares and barter for new treasures. Traveling tradesmen were common among the Dalish--it was as much a symbol of peace and connection as it was a chance to be exposed to different crafts. Arianis had particular hopes for this meeting; the runes on the side of the aravels denoted they were of clan Ralaferin, who had many skilled artisans. He wanted a new staff. He’d made the one he had now himself, but its amateur quality was showing in the way the wood was scuffed and banged up. Master Nirah had told him he didn’t let the wood dry long enough before shaping it.

 

Arianis laid his staff in the grass before settling down himself, feet dangling over the edge of an outcropping that overlooked the camp. The aravels’ red sails showed starkly against the green of the summer landscape like a giant bird flying through the valley. There were five in total, he noted as he watched the ropes dangling from the vehicles sway.

 

“I knew I’d find you up here,” a voice called out behind him. There was a rustling in the bushes before a grinning red-headed elf popped out of them. “Slacking off as usual, eh?”

 

Arianis snorted, not bothering to move from his spot on the cliff. “I’m watching for troublemakers,” he declared. Which wasn’t entirely untrue. “Oh, look--I found one! Unfortunately he’s from our own clan. What a scandal...” He faked an appalled expression as he gestured to the other elf.

 

“Pff. You wouldn’t know a troublemaker if they hit you in the face. Which, I might say, I haven’t done yet.”

 

“Sarel, if you ever manage to have the balls to hit me in the face, I’ll kiss you right on your pretty mouth.”

 

The elf’s cheeks darkened, though he brushed off Arianis’ comment with an eyeroll and sat next to him. The outcropping on which they sat had a tree on it, nice for lounging under. Arianis often came up here to think or--if the Keeper absolutely insisted--study his books. The clan was loud, and he could only take so many distractions from ancient Elvhen or arcane theory before he gave up. He found he could concentrate better if he was alone.

 

It took some time for the aravels to actually reach the entrance to the valley, long enough for Arianis to make a flower chain and plop it onto Sarel’s head. Once the visiting clan had stopped moving, Keeper Istimathoriel’s voice rang out from below. “Ari! Arianis!”

 

“Time to do my Firstly duties,” he lamented with a huff, offering Sarel a hand. “Come on, can’t leave you up here for the bears.”

 

Sarel narrowed his eyes as he let Arianis help him up. “I’d just send them after you.” Arianis’ laugh carried down the valley.

 

+++

 

Clan Ralaferin made their camp a ways from the Lavellans’, down the hill some. They were already setting up canopies and booths, rolling out colorful rugs and pulling chairs and benches around the start of a temporary fire pit. Arianis walked with Istimathoriel to where the traders were gathered, taking in the bustle of their movements. It was different from his own clan; these elves moved with the quick purpose of trying to get everything in order before they would have to pack up and leave within a few days.

 

A tall, muscular man and a more lithe, younger male elf walked down the path between the aravels to greet them. The older one had a pleasant face, Arianis thought, all kind eyes and laugh lines.

 

“Welcome to clan Lavellan,” Istimathoriel said warmly. “We are pleased to have you visit us; we have not received tradesmen in some time.”

 

The older elf held out his hand to Istimathoriel, and she clapped his forearm in return. “Keeper. We appreciate your hospitality--I hope we may have good business with your clan.” His voice rang out confident and clear. “I am Rohirren of clan Ralaferin. This is my nephew, Hadriel.” The younger elf stepped forward, bowing his head in respect to the Keeper.

 

“Ah, you carry my grandfather’s name, Hadriel. It is a pleasure to meet you both. This is Arianis, my First. I have instructed him to make sure you are well seen to. If you have any needs, he will assist you.”

 

Arianis put on his best professional “Firstly” smile, holding out his hand to Rohirren in the same gesture the Keeper had just reciprocated. The man grasped his arm firmly, grinning in turn. “I am glad to see such an able First. You have strong arms, despite your magic,” he said, chucking a chin to the staff strapped to Arianis’ back.

 

“I work with weapons as well,” Arianis answered without elaboration. He didn’t like to fully rely on his magic, so he’d trained in the use of a shortsword and shield. It was interesting to mix the two, though.

 

Hadriel seemed to brighten at that. “Perhaps you and I should spar. It would be a nice change of pace from my uncle,” he said lightly, winking in Rohirren’s direction.

 

“Yes, I’d like that,” Arianis said. He flashed a grin at Hadriel, but it didn’t compare to the dazzling straight-toothed smile he got in return. Hadriel was good looking, with sharp eyes that held Arianis’ gaze for just a few beats too long. He tried to quell the pink that flushed his ears.

 

Keeper Istimathoriel smiled and nodded as if some accord had been struck. “Very well. I will leave you to your duties, then. We make our fire at sundown, if you’d like to join us.” Rohirren bowed his head deeply, Hadriel following, before the Keeper turned to walk back toward camp.

 

Arianis trotted after her. “Soooo they seem nice...” he started.

 

“Yes. Clan Ralferin has not visited us in some time. Last I saw Rohirren, he was but a babe.” She sighed. “And now he has silver in his hair. It makes a woman feel old, you know.”

 

“Well I don’t have any silver hairs yet, so you can feel young a bit longer,” he joked. “Isti, may I join them at their fire tonight? I’d like to learn more about their clan.” _Learn more about Hadr--nope. Don’t go there._

 

The Keeper smiled, glancing at Arianis and still somehow managing to walk straight. He’d always been jealous of her grace; she seemed to float over the grass, and even the roots and stones that dotted it. Of course her robes aided in the effect, but still. He always felt so clumsy and lanky around her. “I think that would be a fine idea. I am pleased of your interest in other cultures, da’len.”

 

They parted at the center of camp and Arianis went to his tent to grab the box of little charms made from the horns of halla who had died. He enjoyed carving them into little animals or just swirling forms. It was a good way to remember their loyal friends, like part of their spirit would live on. He knew it was probably silly--but at the very least, the trinkets fetched a good price in shemlen markets and he’d get good trading from clan Ralaferin’s company.

 

It was customary for trading to open up the day after the visiting clan’s arrival, so Arianis placed the box on his bedside table for tomorrow. For now, though...he blew out a _ppbbbllttt_ at the stack of books that leered at him from the desk. Isti wouldn’t stand for more excuses on why he hadn’t memorized his vocabulary for this week.

 

+++

 

_Second law of the conservation of magic: Magic can neither be created nor destroyed; the total amount of energy and matter in the waking world remains constant by changing from one form to another--_

 

“Ari, are you decent?” The Keeper’s voice startled him from the definitions he was scribbling down.

 

“Yes! Come in,” he called, not straightening from where he continued to write.

 

Istimathoriel ducked through the entrance, striding over to the bed and straightening the covers. It reminded Arianis of when he was a boy and they shared a tent: her side was always immaculate, and his was a jumbled mess of strange collections and dirty clothes. He’d become more organized over the years, but he still never made his bed. It didn’t make sense if he was just going to mess it up again.

 

“Are you doing your studies? Arianis, I’m impressed! I didn’t even have to scold you once this week.” She beamed at him like a proud mother, leaning against her staff to look over his shoulder at the work.

 

He huffed a laugh and looked up at her. “You know, I do actually have a diligent streak every now and then.”

 

“May the gods bless you with more...at this rate, I think you’ll know more about swordsmanship than the language of the People.” Her tone was playful, but Arianis had heard similar words before that were less so. He knew he was the cause of much of her exasperation-- _You’re what turned the last of my hair silver, da’len._ “I came to tell you that we’re starting the fire, if you’d like to mingle with our visitors.”

 

“Oh, yes I would. It’s better than writing definitions, at any rate,” he said, winking at the Keeper. She just waved her hand and smiled before exiting the tent.

 

Outside, most of clan Lavellan and a few of Ralaferin were setting up the nightly fire. It was bigger than usual, probably owing to the presence of the traders. Arianis noted that a similar wood pyramid was being put together down the hill. He could pick out Hadriel and Rohirren hefting firewood; it wasn’t like anyone would notice if his gaze lingered on the way Hadriel’s muscles bunched beneath his tunic.

 

Night was falling late. Cicadas began their chorus little by little, eventually sustaining a crescendo as the sun’s last rays dipped behind the mountains. The clans’ fires had just been lit, shedding an orange glow to the washed-out colors of dusk. Already cups of berry ale were being passed around and tales were being told by some of the more exuberant members of clan Ralaferin. Arianis couldn’t help but laugh along with the current speaker, who slapped his knee and guffawed at his own story.

 

“So there, on the side of this cliff--” he paused to laugh at a memory only he knew, “was Vhelan! Dangling from this branch by his pants, backside as pale as the morning snow and just as blinding to look at!” The group around the fire joined his howling laughter, some wiping mirthful tears from their eyes. “That branch may have saved his life, Mythal bless him, but I think he’d have rather just tumbled on down the mountain...”

 

Arianis snorted and shook his head, downing the last of his ale before rising from his seat on the ground. A similar ruckus was echoing from the other fire and he wanted to see what it was about. Few clans ever visited Lavellan, given that they were nestled so deep in the mountains usually that it made travel difficult and only possible in the summer. This was Arianis’ opportunity to make new friends, connections. He would be Keeper eventually, after all--it made sense not to have to start completely from scratch.

 

“Where are you going?” Sarel asked him, still perched on the bench behind where he had been sitting.

 

“To clan Ralaferin. I’d like to meet more of them--you coming?”

 

Sarel shook his head and made a face. “Nah. You’re the one that’s good at talking to people, remember?”

 

“Oh right,” Arianis said with a smirk. “I’ll be back tonight. Tell Isti?”

 

The redhead nodded dismissively, hiding half his face in the cup of ale he held. Arianis gave a chipper “thanks!” and made his way down the hill. He knew a few of his clan members were already down here. Clan Lavellan was not so large that he couldn’t have deduced who it was exactly, but still large enough that he’d have to think to do it. And he didn’t feel like thinking right now.

 

As he neared the fire, Rohirren jumped up and spread his arms wide. “Arianis! Welcome,” he said cheerfully. “Come, sit, drink with us.” The man’s cheeks were ruddy and his smile sloppy; clearly he’d been drinking since before the fire started.

 

Arianis grinned his thanks and followed Rohirren’s gesture towards a fallen log their clan had dragged over to use as a seat. One of the warriors from his clan that he often went on patrols with was next to him, joining in on the conversation at hand. Several elves were discussing Arlathven--what their expectations were, predictions for certain clans, what they hoped would happen. Arianis listened quietly, running his thumb over the lip of the cup he had carried down with him. It was nice, he thought, to hear new voices and fresh opinions. He loved his clan, but seeing the same people every single day sometimes made him lose focus of how important they were to him.

 

The warrior at his side nudged him, startling him out of his thoughts. “...and Arianis is a mage, too. Though I think he wishes he could wield an axe.”

 

He’d zoned out long enough that the topic had shifted. “I could always attach an axe head to my staff. That’s nearly the same thing, isn’t it?” Of course it wasn’t, but his sarcasm earned him a chuckle from the group.

 

“Aye, he’s got jokes!” Rohirren’s voice bellowed grandly across the fire. “Tell us, Arianis. What magic do you know?”

 

Ignoring the blush that spread across his cheeks from being in the spotlight so suddenly, Arianis crossed his leg over his knee and leaned forward. “Nothing too spectacular. It gets me by though--I must admit that I’ve never made a fire with flint before.” His lips widened in a playful smile.

 

“Then that time--you were playing me!” the warrior said in surprise, pushing him a little.

 

“Well I have to make up for not wielding an axe _somehow_.”

 

The warrior snorted. “Arianis is skilled in lightning magic, though I swear I’ve seen him command nature as well,” he said to the rest of the elves, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

 

 _You had to go there._ That was one he would not admit to. He thought he’d kept it a secret, but it was inevitable for someone to have seen him when he went out alone to practice. Istimathoriel had told him to stay sharp in that school of magic, however painful it was for him. He listened, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

 

“You may want to see a healer for your eyes, friend,” Arianis retorted in an attempt to squash the group’s nearly tangible curiosity. In a further attempt at distracting them, he pulled the Fade to himself and worked his hands at the fire. It was an easy thing, now, to mold the flames to his will. They flicked up and up, twining around themselves like hot, orange vines. Embers rose with them, carried up by the heat and spilling out the top of the display. The flames finally formed into a writhing snake. Its glowing tongue flicked out to taste the sky; Arianis smiled to himself at the gasps and sounds of awe from the onlookers. In a final show of bravado, he sent the “snake” slithering towards the warrior. The motion brought the fire closer to himself as well, but he was used to the heat his magic brought. The warrior, on the other hand, was gripping his cup in one white-knuckled hand and pressing himself into the log as if it could absorb him. Arianis laughed and sent the flames back to normal with a twisting motion of his hand.

 

He hadn’t expected applause. A “splendid!” or “wow!”, maybe, but not applause. But the entire circle around the campfire was clapping--except for the warrior, who was just shaking his head. Arianis seemed to remember himself; he ducked his head and grinned, this time much more shyly. His eyes slid to the side and he saw Hadriel, clapping against his knee with the hand that wasn’t holding a mug. The visiting elf’s posture was unremarkable, but something in his face... Arianis met his gaze. It was like being frozen in time, the way the fire glinted off Hadriel’s honey-colored eyes and his chin was held so regally. His eyes darted around, making sure the elf was looking at _him_. When he looked back he was certain; the sight of a pink tongue licking plush lips stopped his breath in his throat.

 

He smiled lopsidedly at Hadriel, but returned his attentions to the group. It would be too conspicuous to keep ogling him. Rohirren was going on about the importance of mages, how they carried the ancient blood of Arlathan with them, and something about being a link to the lost history of the Elvhen. Everyone was nodding in agreement--even his warrior friend, whom he’d just made a target of his prank. He tried to focus on the conversation, but couldn’t help that the only thing his mind wanted to think about was golden eyes and exquisite lips.

 

+++

 

The next morning Arianis awoke with an ache in his muscles and a persistent grogginess that didn’t even go away after he splashed cold water on his face. _Too much ale_ , he decided with an internal groan.

 

A _thwack, thwack, thwack_ on his closed tent nearly made him jump. He didn’t even bother putting on a shirt before pulling open the flap. “Hm?”

 

“Oh, uh...sorry. You weren’t even awake yet, did I wake you up?” It was Sarel, shifting from foot to foot with his sword stuck in the ground.

 

Arianis couldn’t help but grin at his friend. “Nope! I’ve been up since dawn like every good First should be.”

 

Sarel rolled his eyes, not buying the blatant lie. Of course he wouldn’t--Arianis slept until just before sun-high most days, unless the Keeper barged in and pestered him awake. Sometimes she would just come in and start cleaning, which would wake him right up because _I don’t want that woman searching my drawers!_

 

“Yeah, I can see you’ve had a sudden turnaround in your nocturnal sleeping habits. The traders are set up...do you want to come with me? I mean, down to the booths. To trade.” The smaller elf offered an exaggerated cheesy smile, showing off most of his teeth.

 

“Well now how could I resist that face? Hold on, let me dress,” Arianis said. He slunk back into the tent and pulled on clean robes, tugging on a pair of pants as he hopped over to grab the box of carved figures still sat on his bedside table.

 

The sun was higher than he’d expected it to be. _Did I sleep that long? Ugh._ Drinking always did that to him. He envied Sarel, who could down several flagons and still wake up bright and chipper at sunrise. The camp was bustling with activity; elves scurried about with their wares to trade, while others came back from clan Ralaferin’s camp carrying bartered goods. Some even had chickens, which was a refreshing sight to see. The last of Lavellan’s hens had been eaten by something a few weeks ago, leaving only noisy roosters.

 

Ralaferin’s camp was equally busy; some of the elves from the fire last night were now hawking their wares. Pretty baubles and sundries were on display beside valuable weapons and tools. The booths faced each other to make a single row to walk down. The aravels sat behind them, their sails shading everyone from the sun and casting a faint red tinge over the area.

 

Sarel’s eyes were wide, darting around from trader to trader. “Where do you even start?” he hissed in Arianis’ ear.

 

Arianis just took hold of his friend’s wrist and pulled him toward the first booth on the right. “At the beginning!”

 

The redheaded elf lurched forward at the sudden tug before catching himself. “Thank you, wise ass.” He pulled his hand away with a grumble, but trotted after Arianis all the same.

 

They walked the booths together, stopping every now and then to inspect certain items. Whichever elf was manning the booth would inform them that this pottery was from some clan, or the tapestry depicting a golden halla was from another. It was interesting, Arianis thought, to try and speculate on just how far these items had traveled. Some of the clans mentioned were all the way across Thedas, but through a series of barters had come to be in clan Lavellan’s valley. Sarel was particularly excited about the hair beads made from polished shells, but the trader had to regretfully decline his offer of delicately woven pine straw baskets.

 

“Sarel, can you do me a favor? I completely forgot to grab a sample of that tea back there...”

 

“And you want me to get it.” His tone was flat, but sounded like he expected nothing less. It figured; Arianis always had him running around.

 

“Please?” Arianis offered a hopeful smile--one he knew always worked. Sarel sighed dramatically and dodged through the crowd to fetch the tea sample from a few booths down. As soon as he was out of sight, Arianis turned back to the trader and opened the box he still carried under one arm. “I have skillfully carved halla horns for trade--these will fetch you a fine price in shem markets,” he said, his words silky and convincing.

 

The man rubbed his chin for a moment, inspecting the figures. He reached in and picked up one in the shape of a bear; tiny teeth were carved in exquisite detail as the figure seemed to be snarling. “Yes. What will you accept for this one?”

 

“The beads my friend was admiring.”

 

“Very well,” he said, placing the seven beads back in their pouch and handing it to Arianis. The bear found a new home, wrapped in leather and placed in a crate to be traded somewhere else. Arianis nodded his thanks to the trader before heading off to find Sarel.

 

It didn’t take long--he was balancing two gourd cups in his hands, not far from the tea booth. Arianis couldn’t help but smile at the way he swiveled his hips to avoid bumping into someone. He was like that even with their own clanmates, always trying to keep out of the way. His movements were somehow graceful, as if he were performing a dance in the midst of all those people. The tea didn’t even slosh out...well, that was why he was a swordsman. Coordination didn’t just come out of nowhere.

 

“Arianis! Thank the Creators, I thought you’d gone and left me. Here--it’s some berry blend. I figured you’d have tried all the others,” he said, eyes sliding downwards.

 

“That’s exactly the one I wanted to try!” Arianis took a sip, slurping a bit to cool off the hot liquid. It was very good, and even had a hint of... “Did you put honey in it?”

 

“Um...yes? That’s how you like your tea, I thought. You always put honey in it.” Sarel pulled up blades of grass with his toes and drank some of his own tea. “You can have mine if you don’t like it though.”

 

That was surprising, even for Sarel. Arianis didn’t think anyone noticed his _tea_ habits, of all things. Of course, he did drink a lot of tea. It probably wouldn’t be hard for someone to pick up on his preferences. His tone was gentle when he spoke, trying to put the anxious elf at ease. “I like it just fine. Ma serannas, Sarel.”

 

The duo explored the market a while longer, each with their own wants in mind. Arianis had just bought his new staff--traded for no more than fifteen of the carved figures, some on necklaces--when he bodily ran into someone. He would have lost his box of figurines had the same person he collided with not caught it as it fell. Deft hands held the lid on, and both elves paused for a moment to regain themselves.

 

“My apologies,” Arianis murmured, cursing himself for his clumsiness.

 

“The fault is my own.” It was Hadriel, not bothering to move from his close proximity. “Arianis. What a pleasure,” he nearly purred, making it sound like it truly was a pleasure. His eyes flicked to the new staff Arianis held in his hand and finally he took a few steps back--the calm kind of steps, not the _oh shit he’s a mage_ kind of steps. “I was just on my way to spar with a clanmate. Perhaps you would like to join me?”

 

It was hard to swallow since his mouth had just become inexplicably dry, but Arianis managed to get out a “Yes, of course.” He caught Sarel’s eye and nodded in the direction of Hadriel, who had already begun to walk off. The elf only rolled his eyes.

 

“You may borrow a sword,” Hadriel said once Arianis had caught up. “Had I magic, I would take great honor in practicing with you. You are very skilled, if last night is anything to go by.”

 

Arianis tried to stop the red from rising in his face. “Thank you. I have an excellent teacher,” he replied in an attempt at humility.

 

A noise of concurrence came from Hadriel. “Yes, I suppose being a clan’s First does have its educational benefits.” He chuckled lightly to himself about something, but said nothing more.

 

They walked wordlessly into the open space on the other side of the aravels. A few elves were already fighting, some Lavellan practicing with their new weapons, and some Ralaferin just keeping skills sharp. Hadriel walked to a weapons rack and grabbed a sword the same length as the one strapped to his waist. “Catch,” he said, throwing the blade to Arianis.

 

Arianis caught it easily and threw it back and forth between his hands, testing the weight. He swung it around, made a few jabs...it was a fine blade. Hadriel had already drawn his own sword and twirled it in his hands before cross-stepping around Arianis.

 

The fight was much like training with the clan’s warriors: fast, hard, and with a lot of underhanded techniques. He was used to the subversion, the feints, the confusing footwork. He continued to parry each of Hadriel’s blows, but not without effort. The other elf was strong and a good fighter. They were both breaking a sweat despite the cool breeze blowing off the mountains; a few onlookers were even making various _oh!_ ’s and _yeah!_ ’s when one of them got in a good move.

 

The fight grew more and more trying. Arianis’ arm felt weak, but Hadriel’s movements sped up. It was a monumental effort not to use magic; it would be so easy, just a quick little zap of electricity. He probably wouldn’t even know what hit him. But then Hadriel swung out his foot and swept out the leg supporting Arianis’ weight.

 

He fell back with an undignified _oof_ and just laid there for a moment, catching his breath.

 

Hadriel knelt down to offer his hand, but instead of pulling Arianis up, he used the weight to pull himself downwards. “Come to the forest with me tonight,” he whispered. Arianis shuddered when a tongue ran down the bottom of his ear. When Hadriel scraped his teeth over the lobe, he was suddenly _very_ glad his robes reached down to his mid-thigh.

 

The pretense was back after that, and Hadriel helped Arianis from the ground. Those that had been watching the fight were laughing--a few even clapped. _Well, at least we were entertaining._ He watched the other elf stalk off as if nothing had happened. _Had_ that really happened? Maybe he imagined it. Maybe he’d hit his head when he fell. No, that tongue was real. “Gods, what have I gotten myself into...”

 

+++

The day had been productive. Besides the gift for Sarel, Arianis had procured a new staff, a necklace for the Keeper, and several boxes of berry tea. He even had a few of his horn carvings leftover, which now rested in their box under his bed. The tea he placed on his desk; the aroma was pleasant, and would probably do well for his concentration when he had to do things like _study_.

 

When he recalled Hadriel’s invitation, his heart thudded against his chest. What did the elf expect? Would they kiss? Have sex? Arianis wasn’t sure if sexual relations were what he wanted. Sure, he’d done it before, but it didn’t feel right to him tonight. But Hadriel seemed nice enough...maybe he just wanted to get to know each other better.

 

That thought soothed Arianis’ nervousness. _I can always tell him no, anyways_. At worst, Arianis would have to use his magic. It wasn’t so bad.

 

Regardless, Arianis wanted to look a bit more presentable. He slipped off his robes in exchange for a loose linen tunic, the hems embroidered with golden thread. It had ties at the neck where it was cut into a V, but he left them undone. He slipped on a necklace as an afterthought before he walked outside.

 

The scene was similar to the night before; the fires had been started a little later tonight, though, due to the trading. It was already dark out, a dull purple haze settling over everything. Stars had begun to peek out through the clouds that were quickly rolling in.

 

There were fewer elves around clan Lavellan’s fire tonight, Arianis noted. A few of the same storytellers had returned, but it seemed the place to be was the camp of clan Ralaferin. There was even music this time, rising up from their camp and echoing off the stone. Flutes and drums played a catchy tune. People were dancing arm in arm, reveling in the camaraderie, laughing and singing along to the melody. The words were widely known amongst the Dalish; Arianis tapped the beat out on the air with his fingers as he made his way down the hill.

 

He didn’t even see Sarel come and link arms with him at first, only felt himself being pulled and spun around. Once he’d got his bearings he recognized the toothy smile and shock of red hair.

 

“Dance with me!” the elf laughed, skipping around in a circle with his arm still linked in Arianis’.

 

He obliged, laughing as he found his footing and performed the dance. The moves were as familiar to him as his magic; it was one of the first dances he’d learned as a child. A tight pang went through him at the memory of his mother holding his hands and skipping with him around the fire on Elgar’nan’s holiday. He shut it out as quickly as it had come.

 

The song ended, and all participants of the dance broke apart from their partners. Sarel brought his hand down from where it had been held against Arianis’. “Just like old times,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners in an almost-smile.

 

“Yes. Although you’re much less clumsy now.” Arianis reached out and tickled his friend’s ribs; the elf’s giggle was contagious.

 

The night went on, and after dancing came more stories. This time a few of clan Lavellan’s members had a few to add. Arianis had heard them all before. He found his gaze shifting to Hadriel, who would glance at him every so often through the fire. Sarel caught him once and snorted in disdain.

 

When the moon was high and most of the group around the fire was immersed in one of Rohirren’s tales, Hadriel nodded his head in the direction of the forest. Arianis’ stomach flipped. _This is it._ The other elf got up first, heading between two of the aravels. Arianis waited a moment, gathering his composure.

 

“Be careful,” Sarel hissed next to him. The words were demanding, as if he’d just had his toes stepped on, but his brows were drawn up in worry.

 

Arianis reached down and ruffled his bright hair. “I’ll be fine, lethallin.” The words were as much a reassurance to himself as they were to Sarel.

 

He tried to slow his heartbeat and rose. No one except Sarel looked at him, too involved with Rohirren telling about a pack of werewolves. The shadows deepened further away from the fire; he peered into the darkness between the aravels where Hadriel had walked.

 

“This way,” the elf’s voice called out. He stepped out from the forest, features illuminated by the soft glow of the moon.

 

Arianis took a breath and smiled crookedly. Hadriel carried a bottle of wine and two cups--drinking under the trees? _I can handle that. No problem._ He was beckoned closer with Hadriel’s free hand. Creators, the man was beautiful. Arianis followed without further hesitation. They passed quietly through the trees, and at one point Hadriel took hold of Arianis’ hand. At last they reached a clearing, a little place open to the sky. Hadriel gently took his hand away to set down the wine.

 

“Come, sit,” Hadriel said with a gesture to the soft grass. “It is nice to be alone, I think. It quiets the mind.”

 

“It does.” He fidgeted with the golden hem of his tunic. _What am I doing out here--he’s way out of my league!_

 

“Of course...it’s much better to be alone with someone else.”

 

Arianis’ eyes widened as the golden-haired elf crawled towards him. Surely the sound of his heart pounding against his ribcage was audible? But those lips... It seemed a dream come true when Hadriel kissed him. The movements were soft at first, teasing. It had been a while since he’d kissed anyone, but as his body remembered what to do he gained confidence and deepened the kiss.

 

He only pulled back when Hadriel’s hand reached for the laces on his pants. “I, uh...” he stuttered, breaking away from the other elf. “I’m sorry.”

 

Hadriel looked at him, eyes soft. “Is something the matter?”

 

“No, no you’re perfect--I just don’t feel right about...” _Sex_. He cursed himself. This had never been a problem before. He’d even had casual relations with people, but something was holding him back.

 

“I understand,” Hadriel said with a smile and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Say no more. Shall we drink, then? It is such a fine night for conversation.”

 

Arianis watched, transfixed, as the other elf uncorked the bottle and poured dark liquid into the cups.

 

One of them was passed over to him, a calm look on Hadriel’s face. Arianis took a gulp to relax his nerves--and chased it down with a few more, just to be sure. It was unlike any other wine he’d tasted. Sort of bitter, but also sweet somehow? The taste was strange at first, but he found himself sipping more. It was good once he got past the initial “yuck” phase.

 

“I’ve been watching you, Arianis. You seem very fit to be a Keeper. You know, one of my best friends was our clan’s First.” Hadriel’s voice was soothing and wistful; he braided pine straw while he spoke, holding the end of the needles between his first and second toes as his fingers worked. The butterflies in Arianis’ stomach seemed to quiet down at last.

 

When he spoke, his words were harder to pronounce than he’d expect from one glass of wine. “What’s his name?” he asked. Anything to keep the elf talking.

 

Hadriel smiled to himself almost sadly, throwing one of the braided sets of pine straws to the side. He poured more wine in Arianis’ cup. “Shalir. But that doesn’t matter. I’m more interested in you. Did you grow up here in clan Lavellan, or were you transferred? We’ve had a few mages born that had to be sent off. It’s very sad,” he said.

 

“I came here when I was six. I...had to leave my clan.” Arianis’ brows furrowed at the thought and he took another swallow of wine to distract himself from the memories.

 

“I see. Well, it’s good you are here now. Clan Lavellan is lucky to have you.”

 

Arianis blushed at the complement and fingered the brim of the cup. “Thank you. And you, how long have you traveled with your uncle?”

 

A snort came from the other elf. “Too long. About three years, now. He is a good man, but he can be very difficult sometimes. It is hard being away from the clan. We stop by every so often, though.”

 

“I couldn’t imagine leaving my clan for so long,” Arianis said. His words were slurring now, and a warm feeling had replaced the butterflies. “Have you had your vallaslin long?”

 

“Only two years, now.” Hadriel’s hand traced the thorny design of Elgar’nan across his own face. It was an uncommon god to choose, Arianis thought, but he didn’t want to pry into the reasoning. “And you?”

 

“Less than that,” he replied with a lazy grin, slurping more wine. It had been about a year, now--he could still remember the pain of the needle dabbing at his skin and the taste of blood in his mouth from where he bit his cheek to stop from crying out. He always looked up to elves with heavier, more complex designs. To sit through that without crying out...ouch.

 

Hadriel smiled back and Arianis tried not to think about the way the elf’s golden eyes lingered where his mouth was. He’d set a boundary, and who was he if he didn’t respect his own lines? His eyes wouldn’t stay open; he was so relaxed that he could fall right asleep. _I must not have eaten enough today if I’m already drunk on so little,_ he speculated. Looking back, he only had lunch when he and Sarel returned from trading.

 

“You look tired, would you like to lie down?”

 

Arianis nodded; his head spun and he flung out an arm to overcompensate for his swaying. The grass was cool beneath his cheek, slightly damp with the night’s dew. He gave up on trying to focus his eyes on the individual blades and ended up just staring past them in a daze for an interminable length of time. It felt like hours.

 

Body heat eventually warmed his side. Was that a person? Oh, Hadriel. He’d forgotten about him. His brows furrowed in confusion. “Are you still here?” he slurred. He’d thought he was alone. Thought he had been for a long time now.

 

“Of course, Arianis.” The elf’s hand crept under Arianis’ tunic, warm and wandering. “I didn’t plan on leaving.”

 

Something was wrong. Something...it was too hard to think about. Arianis tried to squirm away from the touch but found his movements diminished. He tried to lift his arm; only a finger twitched. “What...?” was all he could get out.

 

Hadriel’s face was suddenly right in front of his. “Shhh, little mage,” he crooned. In any other setting it would have been comforting, but now Arianis just wanted to go back to the fire, to his clan. He cried out only to have it die in his throat. Why couldn’t he move? Hadriel hovered over him with a smile and stroked his nose. “You have a beautiful face. I bet your cock is even more beautiful.”

 

Then there were hands pulling him around, yanking off his clothes. He heard seams rip. Someone was mewling pathetic sounds of protest. They sounded so far away, like someone calling from the bottom of a well. It was so sad, he thought. Why didn’t anyone help that person?

 

He felt his hips being pulled upward, being positioned. The leather tie holding his hair back fell out; the strands tickled his face. How did this happen? Why couldn’t he _fucking move?_ Fingers pressed into him hastily and he hissed in pain.

 

By instinct, he remembered the one advantage he had. He pulled the Fade to himself, mumbled a powerful lightning spell, and waited for Hadriel to be thrown back by electricity.

 

Nothing happened.

 

He tried to focus through the fog to at least form fire in his hands.

 

Nothing.

 

A jolt of fear ran through him so hard it made him nauseous. He reached for the most primal energy, the pure unhindered essence of his magic, something, _anything_. All he got was the arcane equivalent of a giant stone wall.

 

He choked out a sob and tried to scream again, but all that came out was another quiet whine. Hadriel yanked his head up by his hair and growled in his ear, “No one can hear you, little mage. I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to enjoy it.” The tears were falling freely now; it seemed like the only thing he _could_ do. “Oh, cheer up. You’ll forget about this in the morning.”

 

+++

He didn’t forget.

 

The birds brought with their song a hazy, cloudy dawn. Arianis listened to their melodies, watched the sun brighten the gray clouds above. He’d been shivering since Hadriel--the name turned his stomach--finally left. Dew had even settled on his naked skin. With every shiver his nausea grew and he wondered if anyone even knew where he was. Clan Ralaferin would be leaving in a couple hours, if they hadn’t already.

 

He wondered, with all the mental clarity of early morning, what Rohirren truly knew of his nephew. He wondered if he was the first one. He wondered how he would explain where he’d been to the Keeper. There was no way he could tell her.

 

She would be so ashamed of him. He was ashamed of himself--how could he have put himself in that position? A pang of anxiety sent his stomach rolling again and he shivered full force. He wasn’t even sure he was cold anymore.

 

Another hour or so passed, though it was hard to tell for sure. The bird song eventually lulled him to dip in and out of consciousness. With his eyes closed, he could forget he was lying naked in the forest, still unable to move. He could forget the sensation of his throat being on fire, could forget the pain of having something unwanted shoved so forcefully into him. He tried again to lift his arm, for the twentieth time. The fact that all of his fingers flexed was a huge improvement. So he wasn’t permanently paralyzed, then. He couldn’t bring himself to reach for his magic for fear of it not responding again.

 

He was just beginning to be able to move his feet when he heard a rustle in the leaf litter somewhere behind him. It was bigger than a squirrel, smaller than a halla. Not a bear, then.

 

A soft gasp sounded and then there was a moment of silence, the birds having stopped singing at the intrusion.

 

“Arianis?”

 

“Sarel,” he sighed, ignoring how raspy his voice was. _Thank Mythal._

 

“Oh, Creators, what happened? No, it’s okay. Uh...” There were sounds of the other elf shifting from foot to foot like he did when he was nervous. “You’re cold, where are your clothes? Oh, here.” Footsteps, then, and a hand on his shoulder. Arianis twitched away with a sharp intake of air.

 

Sarel retracted his hand for a moment and Arianis wondered if he’d just walk away. _Like he should_. Then the shirt was being used to dry off his skin from the morning damp. It did not go without notice that his rear end went completely untouched. The non-action was comforting, in its own little way.

 

“Do you need help getting dressed?” Sarel asked quietly after another silent pause. Arianis could only nod and try to stay awake. Now that he was warmer, all he wanted to do was rest. His friend seemed to take no mind, maneuvering his arms and head with surprising gentleness through the shirt. The pants were next; Arianis could see Sarel from the corner of his eye, holding the fabric like he was about to incinerate it with his mind. Then some resolution came over him, and Arianis felt the linen being pulled over his legs. When Sarel tried to pull the waistband over his hips, the elf’s hands hit a sore spot and Arianis winced. “I’m sorry, Ari, I’m sorry--can you lift up a bit?”

 

He tried his best, but it ended up being more rolling around until Sarel could wiggle the pants over him. Now he was dressed, warm, and not at risk of dying alone in the forest. His eyes slid closed and he slept at last.

 

\--

When he awoke he was bundled up on his own bed, lying comfortably on his side. Well, comfortable being relative to his spot in the clearing. He burrowed his face into the furs covering him, trying to block out the feeling that something had been taken from him. It was like a part of him was...sullied. It felt like it didn’t belong, made him feel so wrong inside. If he concentrated hard enough on not thinking about last night, he could almost pretend it had been a bad dream. He shifted a bit and the sharp ache in his ass ruined the illusion. He ignored the pain, curled in on himself, and wept. For what he did not know; a multitude of things, perhaps. Broken trust, childish naivety, all the evils in the world.

 

A soft voice called from outside. “May I come in, da’len?”

 

Trying to quell his sobs, he scratched out a “yes”. It didn’t matter if Isti saw him like this. He couldn’t bring himself to be prideful when the entirety of his dignity had been ripped out from underneath him.

 

The Keeper walked in and pulled the desk stool over to the side of the bed. “My sweet boy,” she whispered as he continued to cry, petting his cheek. The tears were cool from where she’d wiped them across his skin. “My Arianis, how I love you.” Her fingers ran through his hair, soothing and familiar. He felt her press a kiss to his temple before she took a strand of the chestnut locks in her fingers and began to braid it. She sang as she did so--the lullaby mothers sang to their children. The elvish rolled fluently off her tongue, and between her playing with his hair and the gentle melody of her voice, Arianis fell asleep once more.

 

 

A burning in his throat woke him. He coughed, a dry, barking thing, but couldn’t get the sensation to go away. The action triggered a fit of reflexive coughing that made him gag. A cup was being pushed in his face, a hand on his shoulder. “Drink, lethallin. You need water.” Istimathoriel’s voice held all the resoluteness of a healer, and the cup didn’t move. He took it in his hands as he pushed up awkwardly on his elbow and took a gulp. It was cold, probably thanks to magic, and felt amazing. Once the insistent urge to cough had passed, he took a few more sips and handed the cup back.

 

Her mouth was a thin line, he noticed. _This is where I get in trouble._ She set the cup down on the bedside table, straightening a few of the knick knacks before folding her hands in her lap and returning her attention to Arianis. “Do you want to talk about last night?”

 

Now his lips pressed together, more out of nervousness than anything. The very thought of what had happened made him start shaking all over again. “I...put myself in a bad position. I was careless.” He may as well just own up to it, save himself the lecture on responsibility. Still, he found himself biting at his bottom lip.

 

“Ari,” she sighed and shook her head. “You had nothing to do with it. Sarel told me you went with Hadriel...and how he found you. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to, but I need to know if he gave you anything to eat or drink.”

 

“Wine.” A moment of silence, and a thought came to him. “Was I poisoned?”

 

“It is possible. Sarel said you were unable to move, is this true?”

 

“Yes.” He studied the pattern of the wolf pelt that laid over his legs. It was pretty, each hair ticked with different colors. His voice trembled when he spoke. “Isti, I couldn’t use my magic.”

 

Her sharp intake of breath drew his attention to her; her hands were now balled in fists against her knees. It was obvious she was trying very hard to keep her composure. Arianis recognized the expression from having seen it many times in his adolescence. “Magebane,” she spat. The sharp tang of electricity was in the air, her magic a single breath away from crackling in her hands. Arianis’ hair began to stand with the static until the Keeper drew a breath. It appeared a monumental task, like shoving a bear through a rabbit hole, but the magic dissipated as quickly as it had come.

 

“Mage...magebane?” Arianis repeated incredulously. It was an herb, he knew, but not a common one. At least, not an easy one for the Dalish to get hold of. Humans guarded it jealously. It would explain, though, his lack of magic. The odd taste of the wine... He cursed himself. He should have known. Should have been more aware. What kind of First was he? How could he take care of the Clan if he couldn't even care for himself?

 

“It will take a few days for the effects to fully subside. Until then you should rest.”

 

He nodded, still dazed from the realization of how serious a thing had happened to him. A shudder racked his body. Magebane could kill in the right quantities. What if he had died alone out there in the woods? He was confident that his clan cared enough about him that his death would affect most of them in some way. Anger began to creep through him like a river of lava; his hands fisted into the furs. Could Hadriel truly risk someone’s life like that? Isti would have been devasted--no doubt she was pissed enough as it was. Arianis soothed himself with the reassurance that he would soon see Hadriel get his just desserts. For the time being, though, he had to recover. He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on what had happened.

 

“Thank you, Isti. For taking care of me,” he said, voice soft though his hands still clutched the furs hard enough to shake.

 

The elegant woman’s tense expression relaxed, and she leaned forward to plant a kiss on his forehead. She smelled like she always did: mint, pine, and leather. The scent swirled around him as she withdrew, leaving him with a sense of nostalgia and a pang of sadness as he realized that he would forever carry the burden of the night's events. 

 

 

_Arianis recovered both physically and emotionally much sooner than expected, probably due to the constant attention of the Keeper--and Sarel. Deshanna had sent a scout after the Ralaferin contingent shortly after she’d learned of the night’s events, and Rohirren was infuriated at the atrocities his nephew had committed. Hadriel was brought back to the home camp and put on trial. It was not merciful. By his own confession, he had raped at least five others, two of which died from the complications of ingesting magebane. Sarel stayed close to Arianis for quite some time after: the two were hardly separable. Over time the two became lovers, and likely would have stayed as such had Arianis not been sent to the Conclave._

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it through, thank you for reading! I don't expect many people to read this because of the content, but if anyone does then you're a trooper. I hope it wasn't too horrible in terms of squick ^^;


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